In the pre-dawn hours, the steady gait of a lone pair of boots echoes down the city streets. Any night owl who happened to peer from a window or door would have seen the pale-skinned, dark-haired, half-elf Knight Templar striding around the city, head unconvered, greatsword slung haphazardly over one shoulder, and jade eyes staring at nothing as if lost in thought.
In the slums, he slows, then staggers over to a wall, where he seems to have some difficulty breathing. At the sound of approaching footsteps, he quickly dons his helmet with trembling hands.
A woman in martial garb accosts him, and they speak until well after the sun rises.